Untitled Story - Chapter 2

Chapter 2:
The Errand

The mid-morning sun was shining down on Joel, while a cool breeze lightly tossed his hair about as he walked down the city side-walk. This was his favorite time of year. The stifling heat of August had long past, and the crisp October air had not yet given way to a cold that was altogether unpleasant. A rare smile passed his lips as he thought to himself “It’s the small things that make it all bearable.” The bustle of people passing back-and-forth, to-and-fro, didn’t bother him; this was his element. “Gabriel would hate this!” his faint smile grew into a proud grin.

His friend always had seemed, to him, to be the better of the two. His short, manageable sandy-blond hair and calm pale-blue eyes stood out with vibrant flare compared to Joel’s non-descript darkish eye color, and messy brown locks. He always seemed to be on top of the game; and it was impossible to make him angry. The man didn’t even have proper gainful employment, but he never seemed to want for anything. “How does he make it as a handy-man doing odd jobs?” he thought. “I can barely get by working over forty-a-week.” His injury had earned him a short vacation, but he knew it would soon be time for him to get back to the grind. But that didn’t really matter much... right now he was transfixed on the one detail of his life where he excelled over his friend. “That guy can’t stomach city life!” His smile was interrupted and replaced by a slack-jawed stare as he stopped and looked up at the massive sky-scraper. He had reached his destination. He stood and gawked a second or two longer than he thought a man of confidence should. He, then, regained his composure, swallowed hard, and entered the building.

He walked toward the receptionist desk. Every step he took the desk seemed to pull farther and farther away from him. “Excuse me...” he stammered to the middle aged woman, after crossing the seemingly unending lobby. “Can you tell me what floor Taggart, Fleischman & Bayard is on?” “Forty-seven.” replies the woman as she points upward and back in the general direction of the elevators behind her. “Thank you.” He nods and heads to the elevator. He knew what floor they were on, and how to get there. He had already been there previously. But this was royalty he was dealing with... He would not dare break protocol, and just enter without asking, first. These were the powerful men who held his future in their hands.

As he entered the office he looked to the next receptionist desk, expecting to see another, possibly younger girl. Instead, a rather tall distinguished looking man with grey hair sat, writing something. Still facing his work, he turns his eyes up toward Joel, smiles and gives a quick nod. “Be right with you...” “Um... Is Mr. Taggart in?” At hearing this, the man leaps to his feet and rushes over. “You must be Joel.” He grips Joel’s hand firmly, whose face instantly contorts instantly into an agonizing grimace. “Oh! And that must be the hand; sorry.” He patted Joel on the shoulders apologetically. I’m Lance Bayard. Phil had to step out of the office. I’m dealing with his cases while he’s out.” He waves his hand in the direction of an adjacent door. “My office... Come on in; have a seat.” His cheerful smile wasn’t filling Joel with confidence, as he continually rubbed his sore wrist.

Mr. Bayard sat at his desk across from Joel. “I’ll get right to it.” He said as he leaned forward. His smile had disappeared, and his brow furrowed into a contemplative expression. Joel visibly sunk in his chair, as the pit if his stomach did the same. “After reviewing the case we’re not going to be able to move forward. This does not classify as a work related injury.” “But, that’s BULLSH- That’s nonsense... It happened at work... while I was doing my job... because of the job I was doing. That’s a work related injury!” “I’m sorry,” Mr. Bayard continues “but your company claims you were doing the job improperly.” “Well, I wasn’t!” Joel leans forward. “According to them, you were not using the right equipment for the job.” “Right equipment... are you telling me these bastards are trying to weasel out of paying me because I wasn’t wearing safety glasses and a fucking back-belt?!” Joel’s reverence for the firm had quickly evaporated. “Look Joel, I understand you’re upset... But, you need to realize that they write up their employment agreements very carefully. It’s all right there in the contract you signed. Our hands are tied.” Joel slumps back in his chair. “What are my options, at this point?” “Get back to work as quickly as possible and start making money again.” “But I’ve been out for three weeks, already... and it’ll have been over a month before the doctor clears me to go back!”

Bayard Leans back in his chair tilts his head slightly and looks intently at Joel. “This is, by no means, any sort of professional advice; just a personal observation...” Joel looks up slowly and locks eyes. “I can tell you’re not happy. And I don’t think this little drama your employer is putting you through is the source of that unhappiness. I get the impression that you’d be miserable there, regardless.” Joel looks down at his injured hand, lightly bobbing his head up and down as he listens quietly. “Look, strictly between you, me and the wall, that company did you dirty... I see it all the time. This is exactly how these outfits operate. At this point, what do you really owe them? You look like you’re ready for a change... But, then, I think you’ve been telling yourself that for quite some time now.”

Joel’s head snapped to attention on hearing him say this. Then, as if pulled buy some force, his whole body was yanked bolt-upright. He was standing taller than he had in a very long time. He was trying, with little success to force back a smile as he bowed his head gently to Mr. Bayard and headed for the door. Bayard called out “Oh, I’m sorry you wasted your time coming all the way down here... I tried calling you yesterday afternoon, but I think you gave me a wrong number.” On hearing this, he lost his battle with the fledgling smirk, and it broke out into a full beaming smile. As he walked down the hall he hollered back “No, it was the right number, just the wrong goofball!” Still smiling, he shook his head incredulously. “Gabe...”